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The Jug of Punch

From oral tradition and from the singing of Ron Clarke.
MIDI


    As I was sitting, aye, with jug and spoon
    On one fine morn in the month of June,
    A birdie sat on an ivy bunch
    And the song he sang was the jug of punch.

    Chorus:
         Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
         Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
         A birdie sat on an ivy bunch
         And the song he sang was the jug of punch.


    What more diversion can a man desire
    Than to court a girl by a neat turf fire
    A Kerry pippin to crack and crunch,
    Aye, and on the table a jug of punch.

    Chorus:
         Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
         Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
         A Kerry pippin to crack and crunch,
         Aye, and on the table a jug of punch.


    You learned doctors, with all your art,
    Cannot cure depression that's on the heart,
    But even the cripple forgets his hunch
    When he's safe outside of a jug of punch.

    Chorus:
         Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
         Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
         But even the cripple forgets his hunch
         When he's safe outside of a jug of punch.


    Now when I'm dead and in my grave,
    No costly tombstone will I crave.
    Just lay me down in me native peat,
    With a jug of punch at my head and feet.

    Chorus:
         Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
         Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-loo
         Just lay me down in me native peat,
         With a jug of punch at my head and feet.